September 27, 2013Glenn Turner

(Apologies to The Adicts.)

Johnny was a soldier. He was a soldier in a hellhole of a motorcycle gang, but a soldier nonetheless, until he decided to promote himself. I spent a number of days following his bike in aught nine, and even helped him realize the errors of his own ways; I guided him to do the right thing, to dismantle his own biker club, and I watched as his on-and-off junkie girlfriend Ashley swore to join rehab and clean up her act. Once that was settled, I left him there in the land of ‘The Lost & The Damned’ with a slight smile on my face, hoping that the two of them would find a happily ever after.

Four years later in Los Santos, a balding dirtbag bent a redhead in a ‘The Lost’ jacket over the kitchen shelf of a shithole of an RV. Distracted by a news announcement, Trevor withdrew from the redhead and zipped up, slightly stunned, but lucid enough to grab a bottle. Trevor staggered out the RV door as Johnny walked up, shouting, his ‘The Lost’ jacket tensing with his bravado. The redhead’s name was still Ashley, and Johnny was still in love with her. Unfortunately her addiction had become their addiction, but he still had a line, a line she repeatedly crossed. However, he still loved her, which is why he was at Trevor’s door, yelling at him about fucking her.

Trevor gave him a hug. He told him it’d be okay. Then he took his bottle and smashed it against poor Johnny’s head. He started stomping on Johnny’s skull and he didn’t stop until poor Johnny had stopped moving. Trevor walked away, leaving Ashley to cradle Johnny’s still body as she wept over the remnants of her life.

Johnny was a soldier. He can’t dance any more.

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